Some Wounds Never Heal
by AlexWayne
Summary: This is a little piece i did on the story behind Finch's limp and Ingram's death. I am new to this so any comments of support or critique would be greatly appreciated. Thanks!


**Chapter 1 "Corporate Devil"**

_We've sold our souls to the devil..._

Finch looked at the government officials loading the last of the documents. Nathan was nearby, talking with one, and seemed calm. But near the window, Finch was empty.

_All of that work...all of that power...put in _their _hands?_

Suddenly, Nathan Ingram, Finch's partner and best friend, casually walked to the window as he scanned the workers. Pausing in front of Finch, he allowed his eyes to wander around the emptying room before settling them on Finch's blue-green ones. Harold turned away and pretended to be busy gathering his notes from the mahogany desk.

"Don't be mad, Finch." Nathan directed his blue gaze towards him. "They will take care of it."

"No they won't." Finch replied calmly, though frustration shook through him.

"Perhaps not..." Nathan replied. "But it's theirs now...what happens next is up to them."

_But the _machine_! For a dollar...the magnificence of it was being carelessly loaded into a truck, miles away while they toss papers worth more than they will ever make into cardboard boxes..._

Finch would never say these things to Nathan though. He trusted his judgement, and would never express his doubts it Nathan was so sure about it.

What followed this moment would never leave Finch's memories. He can still picture Nathan's determined grin and thinking "What could he be smiling for?" but not caring, because Nathan always had a plan. Always.

A pounding echoed on the front door through the carpet-less room. One agent strolled over and reached for the handle before being propelled backwards as a blast splintered the door apart. As it flung open, gunshots rang out and Finch threw himself to the ground. The only thing he remembered of the chaos was Nathan running to the downed men.

To Finch's horror, a group of 3 men, heavily armed, had turned the corner and stood to admire their work. All around, the 5 government employees lay motionless. Nathan had attempted to give one CPR but slouched in defeat.

"Are you Ingram?" The leader of the group barked.

When Nathan didn't answer, one armed man ran to him and pulled him to his feet.

"Are you Ingram? Nathan Ingram?"

"Yes..." He slowly replied, looking at the bodies strewn around the room, and paperwork fluttering about.

"We want the machine!" The leader yelled, inches from Nathan's face.

Finch pulled himself to his feet, his knees buckling beneath him. Looking at the switch placed strategically under the desk, he reached below and pressed the call button. He knew police would be arriving soon, but he hoped they wouldn't be too late.

_Stall them. That's all we have to do. Stall them._

"I don't have it anymore..." Nathan replied quietly.

The leader strode over and slapped Nathan across the face. Before Finch knew what was happening, he turned the corner into the main room with the armed men. At his sudden approach, the men swung around and cocked their guns in surprise that they had missed one.

"He...he's telling the truth!" Finch replied, raising his arms shakily in surrender.

"Who are you?" The leader demanded, taking in Finch's tailored suit and businesslike look.

"H-Harold Crowe. C-r-o-w-e..." he stammered.

With a nod from the leader he came closer to the group.

"And exactly who are you, Mr. C-r-o-w-e?" He asked, mocking the hesitant way Finch spelled the name.

"I'm Mr. Ingram's associate. I worked on the project finalizations with him. He was telling the truth though. He sold the machine to the government. That's why we were clearing out." Finch explained, pointing around the room.

"You sold it? Gave it away?"

"Yes," Ingram cut in. "I sold it."

The leader turned to Nathan.

"You must have codes to access it then."

He looked Nathan in the eyes and when he shook his head, the leader pulled out a small handgun and walked over to Finch.

"Wait...what are you-"

"You will tell me how to access the machine!" He yelled, allowing the barrel to touch Finch's forehead.

"Okay, okay! Just calm down..." Nathan pleaded, raising his hands as he took a step closer to Finch.

"Unless you want your lil lapdog here to taste lead, give me the codes."

Finch shivered and looked at Nathan with frightened eyes.

"Please, there are no codes! We can't access it anymore!" Ingram began.

"Don't lie to me, I know there are documents for the government to have a hard copy just in case."

Nathan was silent for a moment before nodding slowly and looking at the files on the desk.

"Nathan, No!" Finch lunged forward before being forced onto his knees by one of the other men.

Nathan turned back to see though Finch was frightened he wouldn't let him do this.

"You can't! Don't give them anything! They will just kill us!" Then he turned to the leader who pressed his gun harder into Finch's head. "The police are already on their way, you get anything from us, they will catch you anyway!"

The other two gunman looked around paranoid, but their leader just smiled.

"What stops me from killing him, Ingram? You want to save your "associate"? Tell me how to access the codes and we will be gone before the cops arrive."

Finch was shaking his head but Nathan took a step closer to the desk. The leader lifted his gun from Finch's head and walked over to the window to check for cops.

_I have to do something...protect Nathan, stall them...something!_

Finch rose to his feet and ran to the desk while Nathan's back was turned, picked up a stapler and hit Nathan on the back of the head, knocking him out cold. A sickening feeling rose through Finch as he stared at him, unconscious.

_At least he wont be obligated to help me now._

"Woah!" The leader sprinted over and looked at Nathan, sprawled on the floor, and Finch, holding the stapler. Trembling, Finch forced himself to look the man in the eyes, get a good look at his face to describe him to the police. His scraggly features had a set of piercing grey eyes that were ablaze with fury.

"Now you have nothing to bargain with..." Finch swallowed, trying to clear the knot in his throat.

The man roared as he cocked his gun and fired into Finch's chest.

Finch was propelled backwards to the floor and with a sputtering cough, he lay still.

**Chapter 2 "This Goes Higher Up"**

"Boss, what do we do now?"

The leader looked around the room as the echo of sirens began in the distance. Reaching down, he dragged Ingram to his feet and dropped him in a chair, and began to slap him.

"Wake up!"

"Boss..." The gunman repeated, "the cops are coming, we have to go!"

The leader turned on his man and slammed him against a wall, knocking the breath out of him while the remaining gunman watched in awe.

"Do you think we can just leave?" The leader demanded, "Do you think the man who is paying us for this job will let us live if we don't get this?"

He released the man and turned back to Ingram.

"Go get a glass of water."

The two gunman went to the bathroom and got glasses of water. Upon their return, the leader splashed the glasses into Ingram's face. When he regained consciousness, the sirens were louder and the leader was more impatient. After coughing and blinking, Nathan focussed on the leader's angry face.

"The files. Now!"

"Do you even know what you are looking for? Who sent you?" Nathan asked.

It became apparent that the gunmen knew very little about their assignment and the leader grew more frustrated. Picking up the stapler, he hurtled it at the wall where it bounced to the floor, coming to a stop by Finch's foot. Nathan spotted him and his heart sank and he thought he may throw up and the sight of the crimson stain showing on his vest.

"Finch..."

"He's dead now! You will be too if you don't cooperate!" The leader shoved his face inches from Nathan's.

"After what you did...I will _never _tell you anything." Nathan said defiantly, all of his courage swelling in him to accompany the anger and loss he was feeling.

The leader cocked his gun and held it up to Nathan's head.

"I'm so sorry, Finch..." Nathan whispered before a loud bang ended him.

"There." The leader said, taking in the death of this powerful man at his own hand. "Now find the file."

"Boss..." The one gunman standing by the window began, "They're here."

Running to the window the leader realized this was it. He could see the squad cars lined the whole way around the building. There was no escape.

"Well...let's end this with dignity, boys." The leader held his own gun to his head and waited for the others to do the same. "On 'three'?"

With a nod from the other shooters, the leader counted to three but only his gun went off. The other two looked at each other and down at their fallen boss before running out the door. Before they could even leave down the stairs however, heavily armed officers wearing body armor charged after them and had them in cuffs within seconds.

A tall man in a suit and sunglasses, clearly from a higher organization had crossed the threshold and took in the surrounding mess. He counted five out of five agents dead and saw both Ingram and Finch were down. A young officer ran in and once he saw the bullet wound on Ingram's head, he ran to the bathroom to vomit.

"Dead. All dead." The suit announced and reached for one officer's radio.

Suddenly a moaning could be heard in the room. Several officers scattered around the room and checked the corpses for a pulse. When the officer sent to Finch got there, he saw a flutter of his eyelids.

"Sir!" The young officer turned to the suit and pointed to Finch, who lay on the ground.

Finch opened his eyes a crack. The events that followed were blurred together. All he remembered was medics being called in as he was loaded onto a stretcher and placed in an ambulance. He recalled doctors yelling frantic orders, people he never met coming into his room, and a man with sunglasses looking down at him with disappointment as he struggled to stay alive.

**Chapter 3 "Aftermath"**

When he finally woke, he had no idea how long he had been out. He looked around the hospital room and found himself hooked up to several machines, the most noticeable: a large respirator mask on his face.

"He's awake." A nurse whispered to a tall doctor with an apologetic face.

"Harold?" The doctor began, "I'm doctor Kelly, Andrew Kelly. How are you feeling? One blink you are alright, two means you are in pain."

Finch opened his mouth to speak but no words came out.

"No, Harold, just blink. Come on, it's okay." The doctor put a hand on his shoulder. Again Harold tried to talk, but resigned to two blinks.

"Good, where does it hurt?" Dr. Kelly asked before handing Finch a board and marker.

"_Back." _Finch wrote.

"You'll be in some pain from the stitches, but with time that will-"

Finch began to scribble on the board again.

"_No, spine."_

Dr. Kelly began to look concerned.

"_I can't feel my legs. Is that from the medication?"_

Dr. Kelly tried to contain the enlarging of his eyes, but Finch already saw it.

"I'll be right back, Harold, just hang on."

Finch lay still, looking around and trying to remember how he ended up there.

"Mr. Crowe." The suit randomly appeared before him and the sight of him triggered memories. He was back in the office, Nathan by his side, the moment he knocked him out, the last thing he thought before he knew he was going to die:

"_Nathan, please forgive me."_

"Mr. Crowe, Harold Crowe, is it?" The suit asked, looking at a file in his hand. "I'm Agent Forest. I'd like to ask you some questions."

Finch tried to sit up but when he did, Dr. Kelly came back into the room.

"What are you doing?" Kelly asked the Agent.

"I know you don't understand our protocol but a piece of valuable government machinery is in question, here." Forest responded calmly without taking his eyes off Finch.

Finch pulled the respirator mask off of his face and wheezed at the harsh air forced into his lungs.

"No, Harold." Kelly ran to his bedside to place it back on when Finch let it fall to his side.

"Nathan..." Finch whispered. Coughing to clear his throat, he inhaled deeply before continuing.

"Nathan Ingram...was with me...he was unconscious when I...when I..." Finch pointed to his chest.

"Yes. Ingram is fine. He's in another ward." The suit said, waving off the issue before leaning in close. "Now," he continued, "Did they get information from you? Is the machine safe? Were there others? Who did those three work for?"

Overwhelmed, Finch tried to calm himself with the notion that Nathan was safe.

_We did it. Everything is going to be ok!_

"Um...we didn't give anything up...the paperwork was all down with the machine that left as scheduled around 9 am. There were three armed men and I never heard who hired them...they clearly didn't come up with this by themselves..." Finch sighed and looked at his legs. "Doctor?"

He turned to Dr. Kelly who was watching him closely.

"I...can't feel my legs. My back hurts...terribly..." Finch choked on each word with pain.

"I'm going to put you under again, Harold. Count backwards from 10." Kelly said as he inserted a needle into the IV strip.

"10...9...Agent Forest...?"

"Don't speak, just count." Dr. Kelly replied.

"I'm glad Nathan is oka..." Finch drifted off into a medicated coma once again.

After he was out, Dr. Kelly pulled on the agent's arm and led him outside of the room.

"Why did you tell him Nathan was alright?" Dr. Kelly demanded.

"Look at him," Forest began, indicating to Finch's small frail body in the bed. "Do you think he could handle to answer questions if he knows the truth while he is already on the edge of death?"

Forest took a step back, putting on his shades and began to head for the exit.

"Oh, and doc," he called over his shoulder, "You can tell him when he wakes up. We have no more questions."

With that, the agent was out the door.

**Chapter 4 "Nathan"**

Finch drifted through dreams of being back in the office. He dreamt of late nights hunched over machinery, of when he would give up and tell Nathan he quit. Every time though, Ingram calmly convinced him he could do it, he would make a joke, they'd laugh and Finch would go back to work. Nathan could always cheer him up. He would never stop feeling like he was in his debt though, hitting him with a stapler, but he had to save him. Nathan had to keep going.

"Harold..." Nathan was trying to wake him but for some reason he didn't want to be woken. "Harold..."

Finch opened his eyes and saw Dr. Kelly rather than Nathan and his heart sank a little.

"Doctor...i thought you were Ingram..." Finch laughed. "How is he doing?"

"I checked up and it appears your legs were at a loss because of your back pain. You couldn't send the proper messages to your legs because of your spine. The medications you will be on should reduce your pain and i'm sure you have regained feeling..." Dr. Kelly explained, not meeting his eyes.

Finch hadn't realized it yet but he _could _move his legs now, and his pain wasn't as extreme.

_Everything is turning out okay..._

"That's...amazing! Thank you doctor!" Finch displayed his excitement. "But how is Nathan? You said he was placed in another ward? Can I see him?"

"I...don't think you can...you'll be discharged this afternoon, but you will need plenty of rest." Kelly continued.

He was beginning to get slightly annoyed that the doctor would not answer his questions.

"Dr. Kelly..." Finch was starting to become worried and a sinking in his chest began, "Wh...where is Nathan? Is he alright?"

Dr. Kelly looked Finch in the eye for the first time and his eyes were full of sympathy.

"I'm so...so sorry Harold," The doctor began, "He didn't make it."

"What?" Finch asked, laughing nervously.

"He was dead when the officers arrived at the office." Dr. Kelly replied quietly.

"No..." Finch sat up and tried to get out of the bed, disconnecting some cords from his chest. "No, you said he was in another ward! Which ward? I want to see him!"

Dr. Kelly ran to Finch and tried to push him back onto the bed, but Finch shoved away his hands.

"You _said _he was alright! You said he was in another ward! You _said!_" Finch had raised his voice to yell at the doctor as he stood up and wobbled.

"Harold, please..." Dr. Kelly tried to hold onto Finch to prevent him from falling.

"No, let go." Finch could feel tears forming in his eyes and the weight of this reality was coming down on him hard.

"You...you said..." He collapsed on the ground in a heap and when the doc tried to help him, he swatted at him with little effort as the sobbing caught a hold of him. Grabbing fistfuls of his hair, he allowed the crying to come and he sat there, rocking back and forth on the hospital floor.

"...why...?" He asked Dr. Kelly with wet green eyes as a tear streamed down his cheek. "Why not me? He did nothing wrong? They got nothing from us...they could have left...should have left him alone! Why?"

"I don't know." Dr. Kelly said, barely above a whisper.

He patted Finch on the shoulder and left him to mourn.

Finch ducked his head into his hands and cried some more, but when he opened his eyes, it was a week later and he was sitting in a wheelchair in his best suit, out in the rain before a freshly dug grave that had his closest friend being lowered into it.

"Uncle Harold?" A teenager had approached the chair. The boy's brown hair was matted with the rain and his face streaked with tears.

"Will..." Finch recognized him and reached over the arms of his chair to hug him. When they pulled apart it was then Finch realized how much the young adult looked like his father: Nathan Ingram.

"Don't cry, Harold, my dad wouldn't want you to," Will smiled.

"You can't cry either." Harold replied. "God, you look so much like him..."

Will smiled and hugged finch again. He then patted Finch on the shoulder and stood to hear the words spoken by an officer as the grave was filled with the now-muddy earth.

"Nathan Ingram was a pioneer...he was an amazing businessman, a good person, a father..." The officer began, indicating towards Will. "Many of you are aware...that a week ago, Nathan was in the horrific car accident that took his life with his good friend, Harold."

The lie stung in Finch's heart. He recalled days ago when the CIA agents approached him and told him the lies that would be shared with the public about his death. Little did Finch know at the time that "Public" also included Nathan's son, who was near graduating high school.

"Harold," The officer continued, "Would you care to share a few words?"

Finch had spent many nights writing words to be said over Nathan's grave that would be approved by the agents. Never had he felt Nathan had been so cheated...until he thought of the day he died.

Finch slowly rose from his chair and limped to the podium that had been put in place for the attention of the hundred or so people present.

Climbing up to the microphone, he pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and cleared his throat. Looking at the paper, he read it several times before crumpling it up and shoving it back in his pocket.

"I spent...every day since the hospital...trying to write down words that would give Nathan's actions justice...i failed. Nathan Ingram is..._was_ my closest friend. It isn't fair...what happened...that he should be taken from those he loved so early in life..." Finch choked back tears as he locked eyes with Will.

"He did so much for his family, his community...and he made me believe I had the best life. He will never be forgotten."

**Chapter 5 "From the Ashes"**

Finch sat alone in his apartment, glaring at the items that reminded him of Nathan, of everything in his life before the "car accident".

_Everything is different now..._

A beep on his computer brought him back to earth. Limping over, he opened the laptop and stared at the screen he hadn't seen since the day they sold the machine. Since then he had slept at the office to get the paperwork finalized but he forgot about his computer at home. On the monitor it displayed the back door he had made into the machine.

Memories flooded and the thoughts became to much. He slammed the laptop shut and put his face in his hands, the beginning of tears forming.

_Beep_

Finch opened his eyes again and opened the laptop in frustration. A number popped up:

765893241

With a few taps on his keyboard a name popped up, Janice Burke.

Finch recognized the name immediately as his one neighbor. Since Nathan's suggestion to use the numbers to help those who were deemed "unnecessary" Finch had become curious, but never had the numbers brought up any names he knew.

Finch stayed awake all night thinking of what he should do. Should he let it go? Should he do something? Feeling that is wan't worth worrying for he couldn't do anything, he got out of bed and dressed. Glancing at the clock, he left the apartment for the little cafe down the street at 4 am.

_I have to get my mind off of this._

Ordering a tall, dark coffee with cream and sugar he sat at one of the tables and looked around, taking in the comforting setting before his eyes found her, Janice Burke.

She was leaning on the counter, waiting for a young kid with braces to finish making her order. She was a younger woman of about thirty with flowing blond hair. She was wearing a jogging outfit with a hooded sweatshirt to protect against the rainy morning.

Finch saw her pull a phone from a fanny pack on her hip and talk in a hushed voice. She raised her voice once to yell at the person on the phone before smiling apologetically at the coffee boy. When she hung up she looked very frazzled.

Suddenly feeling like he _could _actually do something, Finch stood up and limped to the counter.

"Harold!" Janice screeched when she saw him approach.

"Janice." Finch smiled. "I couldn't help overhearing...is everything okay?"

Janice's smile faded but she put a fake one on the cover it up.

"Yeah...just an angry client..." she replied.

Janice was a lawyer at Johnson & Sons, one of the most prestigious firms in New York. She dealt with

many uncooperative clients, but now that her safety was in question, Finch felt different.

"Anything I can help with?" Finch offered, more pleading than polite.

"No..." Janice shrugged it off.

When she saw Finch's disappointed frown though, she assumed he was doing it to ask her out.

"You wanna buy me a scone though?" Janice asked with a flirting smile.

Finch blushed, not out of fancy but rather embarrassment that she assumed he did. It was progress however, and finding out more may be made easier by this.

"It would be my pleasure," Finch smiled shyly, signaling the boy at the counter.

After ordering the treats and coffee, they sat at a two-person table in the back corner.

"So...what happened? You want to talk about it?" Finch pushed.

Janice smiled and slid her hand on top of Finch's, making him uncomfortable.

"You are so sweet to ask!"

Finch forced a smile.

"I guess I could tell you...i've known you for a while Harold Crowe..." Janice began.

Finch smiled at the irony of the name she associated him with.

_Everyone thinks they know me...only one person ever truly knew me..._

"It started a week ago," Janice continued. "My one client got very violent with me and my partner. My partner refused to do any more business with him but I stayed on to prove my boss wrong. Anyway...i tried to get my client to settle but he wont have it. He gets into tantrums and just now he gave me death threats. Talk about not being a morning person." she joked.

Any other time if he were told this he would have laughed too, but Finch knew today was different and he couldn't take chances.

"What if he's serious?" Finch asked, leaning in close.

"What do you mean?" Janice asked nonchalantly.

Finch tried to come up with an adequate solution to the problem. He couldn't protect her though, he had no way for her to be safe.

"Maybe you should tell the cops..." Finch began, not fully trusting his own advice. "...and then skip town for a while."

When she realized he was serious, the smile in her eyes vanished and she pulled her hand back.

"I don't think dropping the case would really help at this point. What was his charge?" Finch continued.

"I can't share that...but...it _did _include violence." Janice lowered her voice.

"You should do this now." Finch emphasized each word.

"I can't...i have work..." Janice looked at her watch.

"At least do this much," Finch pulled out a pen and notepad, writing his cell number down and handing it to Janice. "Talk to the police on your lunch break and call me with the details."

Janice nodded to him and stood up, taking the slip of paper, but before she could leave, Finch caught her arm.

"This man doesn't seem like he's kidding. Be careful." He said, looking her straight in the eyes.

With that she was gone.

_I hope I did the right thing._

With every passing hour, Finch became more and more anxious, pacing his apartment, waiting for the call. When his phone finally rang, it was Janice's calm voice.

"The police told me not to worry. It seemed like an empty threat. They just said to keep my eyes and ears open and report and suspicious behavior to my superiors. They seemed pretty calm about it."

_Just what I feared they would do..._

Finch sighed into the mouthpiece but before he could argue, Janice cut in.

"It'll be okay, Harold. The cops know what they are doing. Look, I gotta get back to work. I'll call you later. You seemed stressed...wanna go out for coffee later?"

Finch sighed and nodded before realizing she couldn't see him. "Oh, yeah, sure."

"Good," Janice replied, "Talk to you soon."

When she hung up, Finch stared into space.

_Was this really the threat? Could it be something else? Is she even really in danger?_

Later in the evening, Finch became worried she didn't call. He didn't have her number so he called the office where a secretary said she went home. Before he noticed it, he had located her address via his laptop and paused to reflect.

_This is ridiculous...i'm completely overanalyzing this...just call again in the morning._

That was that. He turned off his computer and went to bed, discovering just how tired he was after not sleeping at all the night before.

At 9 am he was feeling fully refreshed and recharged. After all that had been going on, Finch owed himself a slow morning start. He made eggs for himself, poured a glass of orange juice, and had sat down in front of the television ready to eat when a story caught his eye.

"A woman had been found after committing suicide late last night," the reporter had been saying. "Police have identified her as Janice Burke, an attorney at Johnson & Sons law firm. She appeared to have leapt from her 5th floor room and plummeted to an early demise. She was only 32..."

Finch turned off the TV before any more could be said. He knew it all to be lies anyway. She hadn't committed suicide. She was killed by her client and the police mentioned nothing of how she called before, pleading with them to help her from a possible attacker. A possibility made reality.

Without taking a bite from his eggs, Finch limped to his computer, where news of her death was plastered everywhere. Suddenly, a beep rang from the computer and another number popped up.

_So this is how it is going to be is it?_

Finch swallowed hard and looked at the papers on his desk he had gathered on Janice. This time he was unprepared, but next time he wont be. Even with the determined thought in his mind, he still had a large crater filled with doubt.

_I couldn't protect her...i could only turn her to the police and _they _didn't help her..._

All of the sudden, Finch was hit with a thought that at first seemed crazy, then more and more like a possibility.

_I'm going to need a partner...someone with the skills to intervene..._

The spontaneous surge of determination welled up inside him and he began typing furiously on his computer. For hours he researched the number as well as possible candidates for his work. Stopping only when he could think no more, his eyes fell on a photo of himself and Nathan.

"_I wish there was_ _something we could do for the people whose numbers are deemed unnecessary," _Finch could hear Nathan say.

_Now we can, Nathan. I'm sorry it took all of this for me to realize it..._

Finch turned away from the photo and started the search for his new partner in preventing crime and hunting down the numbers.


End file.
